The Steve and Bucky Chronicles
by interstate-confessional
Summary: Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes-brothers from schoolyard to battlefield to the Avengers Initiative. A chronological account of their friendship and just how strong it is.
1. Meeting Eachother

**Hello Readers! So this is just the first entry of a group of Steve and Bucky stories my friend and I have written.**

 **For clarifaction: "S-" means its Steve's POV and "B-" means its Bucky's**

 **Meeting Each Other**

S- I sat hunched over my book on the school steps, glad for once that it was a cloudy day. I didn't have to squint because of the bright sun to see the words on the pages. I turned to the next chapter, already half way through. Then, out of nowhere, someone pulled it out of my hands.

"Hey!" I said, looking up to see who was there. A group of guys from the grade above me. I stood and the boy who grabbed my book raised it higher so I couldn't reach.

"What? You want this?" He laughed and pushed me down.

B-Usually, I minded my own business when it came to fights that sprung up. Because usually, it is a fair match, and neither side looked like actual damage would come to them. And, who wants someone to fight for them? When I heard the older guys raise their voices and start to scuffle around with some kid, I was going to try and ignore it, except when I saw it was little Steve Rogers they were hulking over.

"Hey!" I shouted, running over to the steps that they looked ready to smash Steve's head into. I managed to come between the two and attempted a menacing glare,

'Knock it off! Is Rogers really worth your energy? Just give him-" That's when he slammed his fist into my nose. I stumbled back, right into Steve, a trickle of blood running down my face.

S-Just when I was about to get beaten to a pulp, in steps Bucky Barnes. I didn't know him very well, just knew of him. I guess that's why I was confused when he stood between me and the bullies. Then, when they socked him in the nose, he threw a punch himself. I sat there watching with a mix of awe and shock. Nobody ever stood up for me.

B-I managed to get the bully right in the stomach, but he didn't look too affected, I think he left just because he didn't care that much. Wiping my nose on my coat sleeve and I turned around to Steve.

"You okay Rogers?"

S-"I'm alright." I took my book from where the bully threw it and stood. I looked down at my shoes. "Thanks for that…" I muttered, glancing up for a moment. "But… I can take care of myself."

B-I rubbed my neck awkwardly, just looking at Steve made me tired. I had heard rumors that he was like a magnet for disease or something, so people stayed away, but he seemed too nice to be as friendless as he was.

"Okay...it just looked like you were about to be overwhelmed….and I hate someone getting in between me and another fella...but…" I searched for a way to change the topic.

"So, what's that book you're reading?"

S-I looked at the worn cover of the book in my hand.

"Oh, it's _A Tale of Two Cities,_ by Dickens. My ma, she's a fan of the classics so I've been trying to read them and…" I felt myself beginning to ramble so I just decided it would be best to shut my mouth.

B-"D-dickens? Jeez kid…" I felt my face redden. He was reading Dickens, that was some heady stuff.

"That's neat….my folks don't, well, we don't have much stuff like that. Is it good?" I avoided eye contact, he probably didn't care about my comments or questions.

S-"Yeah, it's great!" I responded a bit too enthusiastically. Now he probably thought I was really weird. Well, weirder than most people thought I was.


	2. The Funeral

**Hello! So this is a bit serious...well a lot serious. And yes, we are aware that Bucky's mother dying at this point in time isn't canon, but this is just how our inspiration struck. I hope you guys like it! And, as always: "B-" is Bucky's POV and "S-" is Steve's POV.**

 **The Funeral**

 **S-** I made my way over to Bucky slowly as if I were afraid any sudden movements would scare him away. The rain was coming down hard so I raised my umbrella to keep my friend from getting any more wet than he already was. I stood there not saying anything, not wanting to make Bucky talk if he didn't want to.

 **B-** Why? _Why? WHY?_ That stupid three letter word ran through my mind on a nonstop loop. My mother was currently in a wooden box, because her lungs just couldn't take it anymore. I tilted my head up to the gray clouds, only to see the tight black fabric of an umbrella, and to hear the rain thump on the outside. I took a breath and wiped my tears away with the back of my hand.

"Hey Steve. How are ya?"

 **S-** I closed my eyes and shook my head. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to pretend he was alright? Anyone else might buy this, but not me. I'd known him too long. I could tell when he was covering something up and what he was thinking. I let out a long sigh and looked at the tombstone.

"How're you holding up, Buck?"

 **B-** I refused to make eye contact with Steve or even glance at the stone, it would just let the sobbing I was holding in surge out. Instead, I kept my face down at the grass below me, seeing nothing as hot tears clouded my vision.

"Good as any guy can be, I suppose." With his Ma dead...from a sickness she should'a survived! I pounded the ground and let some of the tears fall, mixing with the rain.

 **S-** "Good?" I repeated quietly, looking at my friend's face just in time to see a tear slide down his cheek.

"You don't have to do this." I put my hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to pretend around me." I looked around. Everyone else had left, but I had stayed behind when Bucky didn't leave with the rest. "There's no one here, just me and you. You can say what you want."

 **B-** "I just..I just, I have nothing to say! My mother's gone! One day, I go to school and come home, she's making dinner, the next? She's in bed!" I got up, hitting my head on the umbrella spokes.

"Oh, and I don't think anything of it, 'cause why should I? We all get sick! And she's never been one to let it slow 'er down!" My hands flew up and down as I got louder and louder.

"Then, I come home on Friday….this is just stinkin' last week, and my pop is home from freakin' work early. He never is, counting out our savings. You wanna know why, Stevie? 'Cause my ma needs a casket and a funeral and a proper burial, that's why!" I leaned up against a tree in defeat, not caring if I sounded too loud or looked messy. When I finally let myself cry, it wasn't just tears, my body shook, and my nose ran.

 **S-** When he stopped talking I reached into my pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. I held it out to him.

"Seems like you had a lot to say, Bucky." The rain kept coming down, soaking everything it touched. Droplets of water dripped down the smooth surfaces of the tombstones. I shifted my gaze back to his Ma's stone. I read the inscription.

 _Here lies Winifred Barnes_

 _Loving wife, mother, and friend._

Beneath were her date of birth and her death date. I turned to face Bucky, tears still streaming down his face.

"I know how much you love her and I can't begin to imagine how much you're going to miss her. But even though she's gone now, just remember that she's always with you." I tapped my heart. "In here."

 **B-** Without thinking, I pulled Steve in and hugged him. I wasn't a very sentimental, touchy-feely person, but I didn't realize how much I needed one until I got it.

"But you won't leave me, right?" I mumbled, more of my half asleep, torn up thoughts than ok anything.

"We'll make sure ya stick around….can't lose my brother, too? Could I?"

 **S-** I hugged Bucky back, listening to what he said.

"I'm not gonna leave you. I'll always be here, you got that? Don't even think about it, okay?"


	3. The Cats

**Hello readers! So, this one is kind of goofy, and I hope you all like it!**

 **Just remember: "B-" is Bucky and "S-" is Steve.**

 **And PS: We, as writers have created backstories for Bucky and Steve that aren't necessarily canon (while we do use some elements that are), so don't call us out on something we intentionally wrote a certain way! Thanks for checking out chapter four!**

 **The Cats**

 **B-** "Steve! What were you thinking?" I grumbled, dragging his sorry ass out of yet another alley.

"You know that they are purposely saying those things just to get to you!" In a huff I picked him up and sat him on a stoop, analyzing the cuts and bruises that he had gotten.

 **S-** "Well, they got me, didn't they Buck?" Though I couldn't see it I knew I had a pretty nasty black eye and a cut or two on my face. Wonder what my mother would say when she found out.

"Almost had 'em that time, though." I joked.

 **B-** I shook my head, especially worried about the bleeding gash on his forehead.

"If you're gonna fight, fight someone your own size. Those fellas aren't worth it. They just like to go out, get drunk, and beat up on whoever looks at 'em funny. Each other sometimes." I looked at him up and down again.

"Is there anything serious that you're hiding? 'Cause I think you'd rather clean it up now than have your ma see it."

 **S-** "You know I'm not very good at hiding things."

I stood, my head still spinning a bit from the hit, well, hits, I took. Nothing was broken or damaged beyond repair. I gestured to my face, the cuts still bleeding.

"Know anyway I can hide this? 'Cause my ma's not gonna be too happy when she sees I got in another fight."

 **B-** Without a word, I grabbed his elbow and began to lead him through a few alleys to my house. Quietly, as to not disturb Mrs. Flanders cats, I brought him up 6 flights of stairs and into the dimly lit kitchen. A basket of clean rags, half of them previously used for this same purpose was set on the table. Grabbing one, I turned on the faucet and glanced at my friend again.

"What was it for this time? Were they theives? Vandals?"

 **S-** I sat down at the table and coughed, which quickly turned into a wheeze.

"They were…" I paused to catch my breath. Sometimes I wished that Bucky lived on a lower floor. It would make these post-fight clean-ups a lot easier on my part.

"They wouldn't leave this girl alone. They were bothering her and I wasn't going to just stand there and watch."

 **B-** "Alright...but Steve, those guys aren't gonna back down just cause someone, especially of your size, comes over. If you see something like that, call me." I believe I have spoken those words more times than any other. _Call me to help. Get the police._ I was trying to be responsible, I really was. But-

"For the love of god! Get back to your side of the wall, Petruchio!" These cats, these stinkin' cats were going to be the end of me. With more grace than I really should have for cat-nailing, I grabbed the broom from its corner and began to sweep the gray nuisance back through the hole it came from.

"You know you're not supposed to come over here, you son of a-No! Is that a dead mouse. You shithead of an animal! I'm trying to help my friend here!"

 **S-** I started laughing, which just made the whole situation worse.

"Damn it, Steve! This isn't funny!" Bucky yelled as he swatted at Petruchio with the broom.

"Language Bucky. Language." Honestly, who wouldn't laugh at this? Bucky Barnes, the ladies man, the guy who was good at everything, the guy who pulled me out of fights and beat the crap out anyone who gave me a hard time, was chasing a cat around his apartment.

"You know you should probably fix that hole in the wall. Maybe then the cat infestation would stop?" I picked up the abandoned rag and began to wipe the blood off my face, enjoying the show.

 **B-** I finally got Petruchio through the side of the wall, keeping the hole closed with my heel, and glared at Steve.

"These cats." I felt one bite down hard on my boot. "Break through this wall like madmen. We've tried to cover up the walls, but they are-" I could hear their angry _meows_ , they thought that this was their territory.

"stuck inside all day, so they jump up and scratch at the walls. And are able to rip through them." I grimaced as one got me on the back of my leg.

"They are vicious."

 **S-** "They are still just cats." I saw one white paw swipe at Bucky from behind the wall. "Need any help with your… uh… vicious cats?"

 **B-** "No….just hand me that…" I gestured to the basket we had covering this hole. That didn't exist before today, in this size at least.

"We can go after I cover this up. If you're feeling alright."

 **S-** I put the rag on the table and handed Bucky the basket.

"Yeah, I'll be alright." I looked at the hole. "Are you sure this'll hold them?"

 **B-** I shook my head.

"Got any better ideas? My pop won't be back for a few hours...I guess we could go salvage some cardboard and stick it up against the walls?" It was one of the many perks of living in an apartment that was built before your grandparents time. Thin, water wrecked walls that cats can claw through. To be completely honest, I would rather just forget about the cats and go with Steve to his place. It wasn't much nicer than mine, but they had a window out to a park and their walls were...whole. Silently I slid the basket in front of the whole and stood up straighter, looking at Steve as to what he wanted to do.

 **S-** "I think a basket is better than any old cardboard we find." I took my coat off the back of my chair and slid my arms into the sleeves. It was a bit big, but ma said I'd grow into it soon. The thing is, I didn't think that was going to happen. She said that a few years ago. I pushed my chair in and rinsed out the rag, leaving it to dry on the edge of the sink.

 **B-** "So…." I swung my arms back and forth. "Where-what do you wanna do? My place isn't really the hotbed of excitement. And I don't like staying here any longer than I gotta." I grabbed my coat from where I'd thrown it on the table.

"Just-no fights. I'm not a nurse, y'know."

 **S-** "Definitely no fights for at least a week." I opened the door slowly, afraid any sudden movements would cause the cats to come back.

"Let's just go to my place. Maybe you can help me explain why I have another black eye to my parents."

 **B-** "Any reason to leave these two rooms is a great one." I walked back over to the door and unlocked it.

"But can you really stay outta fights for a week?" I gave him a look, "No punches? No getting in the middle of something that you shouldn't be?" We began to head down the stairs, the icy draft reaches us sooner than it should. I wrapped my coat tighter and wished my socks were thicker.

"In this weather especially, with your asthma….and you got pneumonia last year 'cause you got tossed into a snow bank….it's expensive, and dangerous to get sick when it's winter." Steve was like an excitable puppy. Enthusiastic, but way too impulsive. Never thought of what _could_ happen, only what he wanted to.

 **S-** "Well, it's not like I'm trying to get beaten up." Well, maybe I was just a bit, but I had a good reason each time. But Bucky had a point, too. I did get sick a lot and that did take a toll on the people around me. The wind stung my face as we began to make our way to my building.

It was getting dark by the time we got there. I looked around for my key.

"You know my ma's going to make you stay for dinner, right?"

 **B-** "Steve….y'know I can't. I gotta be home to….y'know.." I had no excuse _not_ to, it just always felt….like cheating to go. My family was just me and my pop, since mom died. I know I should be proud of us, but, I saw him only when day broke and when dusk set in. My job lasted only 'till noon. And, even with all his time at the repair shop, it was only food on the table and a roof over our heads. In a shabby Brooklyn tenement. Not that I was jealous….but Steve Rogers was lucky. At least to me. He had two parents, and one that was home to tuck him in and make chicken soup. The freedom to wake up every morning and just walk about. I bit my lip and sighed, nothing but a breath coming from my mouth.

 **S-** I nodded knowingly and fit my key into the lock, listening for the click. I swung the door open.

"Hello? Ma?" I heard her call back that she was in the kitchen. I stepped into the apartment and looked back at Bucky.

"At least come in for a minute to say hi. Otherwise she'll worry. You know how she gets." I pulled him into the apartment by his arm. Ma walked out to greet us, a towel in her hands.

"Hello James, how have you- Steven Grant Rogers! What did you do?" She said the last four words slowly, through clenched teeth. Oh, she was mad alright.

"Well… you see…"

 **B-** I climbed up a step and smacked a smile on my face.

"He just slipped on some black ice! And fell down on some crates a grocer left out! I did, too. How I got these scrapes!" I held my hand out, showing Mrs. Rogers a wide cut Rufus, the tabby cat, gave me last night when he jumped me while in bed. Though it was beginning to fade, but a mixture of it being from dirty feline claws...or teeth and no bandaging, my left hand looked like a rusty old can had sliced it.

 **S-** "Yeah, just fell right on my face. You know how I can be a little clumsy sometimes." Ma raised an eyebrow and I could tell she didn't believe us, but she also didn't question us any further. Like I thought, she asked him to stay for dinner but he politely declined, saying he had to get home. My mother turned to go back to the kitchen.


End file.
